Take Wing
by The Slytherin Songbird
Summary: A collection of oneshots depicting life for Athena and Simon after the events of Turnabout for Tomorrow. Here there be fluff, angst, humor, and many misadventures involving a mischievous pet hawk. Cykesquill, although some stories may contain briefly implied Metis/Aura and/or Claypollo as well. All stories will be rated anywhere from K to T. Now accepting prompts! I hope you enjoy!
1. Whispers

_**1. whispers**_

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><p>"<em>Enough! The court sees no reason to further prolong this trial."<em>

_No. No, it couldn't end this way. Not when they were so close! _

"_W-Wait! No, please, wait, Your Honor!"_

_Something was very wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Alarm bells rang off as loud as thunder in the back of Athena's mind, but her nervousness had rendered her completely immobile. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears and reminded her that she was still alive, despite the fact that it felt like her insides had been turned to solid ice. _

_Oh, no. She remembered this feeling all too well. The mounting desperation, the anxiety that coiled every muscle in her body as tensely as the tightest-strung piano wire, the unsettling cold that seemed to flood her from the inside-out. Not here! Not now! Swallowing hard past the sudden lump in her throat, Athena took a few gasping breaths, but still her lungs burned for air. An instinctive panic and dread overwhelmed her, made the world spin dizzily in her field of vision and made her stomach drop to the tips of her toes. Dimly, she was aware that Apollo was trying to say something to her, but his voice seemed warped and faraway._

No one's listening, _she thought, hating the blankness and complete lack of concern on every face in the courtroom – and hating the tears that came to sting the backs of her eyelids even more. _Why aren't they listening to me . . . ?!

_Urgency and terror making her utterly indifferent to consequence, Athena found herself yelling the only word that seemed to make any sense: "Simon!"_

_He stood at the witness stand, tall and proud and oddly regal, not at all the gangly, quiet boy she'd once known. He looked every inch the noble shogun, ready to greet the gates of Hell itself with a mischievous quirk of a smile on his face – but she saw past the act with little effort. The confidence was a poor cover for the turmoil, especially when the voice of his heart burned and cried with the truth._

"_Simon, stop this! You have to tell them the truth! Tell them you're innocent, Simon!" Her words fell from her lips clumsily, every syllable heavy and disjointed. Even her teeth were beginning to chatter as fear in its purest form descended upon her. "P-Please, you don't have to protect me anymore! W-We can think of something, just please stop them!"_

"_Prosecutor Blackquill! You are hereby ordered to surrender to the court immediately. Your previous verdict of 'guilty' still stands. Bailiff! Would you please escort Mr. Blackquill to the penitentiary? There, he will await his pending execution."_

"_No!" Athena hadn't previously thought herself capable of screaming so loudly, but now it was only her own voice filling her ears. Ridiculously, she was reminded of those old Saturday morning cartoons, where the whistles on the cheerily-bouncing trains would blow out steam with a high-pitched squeal. Had she not felt so defeated, she might have almost found the analogy somewhat comical._

"_Court is adjourned!"_

_The judge swung his gavel down, and with a mighty _WHAM! _the entire world melted away._

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><p>Athena Cykes woke up a gasping, sweaty mess. She found herself staring directly at the ceiling – or, at least, she would have been, if her messy orange bangs weren't plastered to her forehead, damp with perspiration. Emitting a noise half-between a groan and a yawn, she pushed her hair back and blinked rapidly, as if she'd just surfaced after an excruciatingly long time spent underwater. Slowly but surely, the haze began to dissipate from her sleep-addled mind, and she became aware of the warmth of another figure pressing against her side.<p>

Simon.

He slept on her right side, curled up so that his back was turned towards her. Even in the darkness, Athena could just barely make out the steady rise and fall of his shoulders that indicated he was fast asleep. Well, that was good. At least he was getting some rest. Usually, with them, it was the other way around and his insomnia kept him awake. Maybe the fact that he was sleeping so peacefully meant that he was finally starting to let the past remain in the past and find the serenity she'd always wanted for him.

_He's here, _Athena caught herself thinking in a sort of subdued wonder. _He's really here with me. Everything's okay. He's fine. I'm fine. It was only a dream._

Still, the reassuring thoughts did little to chase away the ghosts of anxiety and sorrow left over in the wake of her nightmare. Her entire body still felt tense and shaky, her muscles weak; though her senses were gradually returning to her and her mind was working its way out of the murky veil of slumber, her heart still raced as though she'd never left that hellish courtroom scene at all. A shiver ran down her spine, and for a few terrifying seconds she almost felt as if the phantom himself had been tracing his index finger down the curve of her back, instead.

In a desperate attempt to shake off the insurmountable fear roiling in the pit of her stomach, Athena turned onto her side and buried her face in the comfortable space between Simon's shoulder-blades, arms winding around his waist. His body was as still and calm as ever against her own; as usual, his stalwart nature helped tremendously to bring some much-needed placidity to the gale-force wind that was her personality. In no time at all, the tightly-wound knots in her stomach seemed to unravel, the weight on her chest lifting and finally enabling her to take stronger, fuller breaths. Her eyes fell slowly shut, her weary mind succumbing to the tranquility of the moment . . .

. . . and promptly snapped back awake again when she heard a sleepy groan from Simon himself.

"What's happened?" he murmured groggily. Within the span of a second, however, the sleepiness was all but gone and he twisted around in bed, confused but very much alert as he added dryly, "What is troubling you, Cykes-dono?" He rubbed lazily at his eyes, but the smirk that meandered across his pallid features told her that any annoyance on his part was mostly feigned.

"Oh," Athena gasped, eyes widening in surprise. "Did I wake you? I am _so _sorry – no, nothing's wrong, go back to sleep, okay?"

A red flush of color flooded her cheeks – geez, was she an idiot for managing to wake up her poor insomniac, former-convicted-felon boyfriend for nothing! Despite her embarrassment, she couldn't help but crack a tiny grin at the honorific, remembering all the times he'd called her that back when she was a little girl, living at the lab with her mother, and he'd just been the shy but sad young man who'd trailed after Metis like a puppy.

"I'm afraid it's far too late for that," he responded, somehow managing to sound dignified even as he stretched like a spoiled little house-cat. Shifting his position in order to better face her, he studied her with those keen gray eyes. "Nevertheless, it matters not, for sleep is a mere construct of the weaker-willed."

_Oh, for crying out loud, did he just find a fancy way to say 'sleep is for the weak'? _Athena snorted, the grin on her face turning a shade closer to devious as she pointed out, "Hm, something tells me you were singing a different tune a couple of minutes ago. I bet you even drooled on the pillow and everything," she giggled, prodding him teasingly in the stomach.

His response was a low grunt, followed by a look of stricken indignation, a tilt of his chin, an imperious little sniff as he glanced off to the side. "The little lass fancies herself a comedienne now, does she?" he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Heheh! Oh, come on, Simon! The voice of your heart says that you secretly think I'm hilarious," she jested, squirming betwixt the sheets until she was close enough to him to slip her foot between his. "Geez, your feet are cold!"

Still, even as she joked around, Athena caught something behind the spark of amusement in Simon's eyes. He was covering up something, and when she listened closely to his heart, it sounded like . . . concern. Wariness. And then, as there usually was whenever they were around one another, there was that note of something soft and comfortable, something romantically melodic and warm that she'd only ever heard before when Miss Aura had spoken about Metis Cykes, or when Apollo had told Athena about his friend Clay. Never had something so precious and powerful been for Athena herself . . . but now it _was_, and it never failed to excite and bewilder her all at once.

"Be that as it may, I hardly think that alone to be your reasoning behind pulling me from the bonds of sleep in the wee small hours of the morning like this." He raised his dark eyebrows knowingly, his gaze meeting hers with the sort of thoughtful intent that had come to define Simon Blackquill over the years that she'd known him. "Now, would you be so kind as to tell me what has perturbed you so, Athena?"

There it was, the word that, when spoken by him, made her heart flutter like a bird frantically pounding its wings against the confines of its cage; it rendered her insides as squishy and useless as watered-down Jell-o pudding. He'd called her _Athena_, not Cykes-dono or little lass or any of the other thousands of pet names he tended to use for her. Just her real name. He saved that for when he was trying to be serious with her, and such occasions often provided her with insight into what he was truly feeling without even needing to put her special power to use.

Athena bit back a frown. Conflict surged within her. Did she dare enlighten Simon as to the contents of the dream she'd just experienced? She knew all too well just how protective he could be of her, and while she appreciated that he cared so deeply for her well-being, she would hate to give him any cause for worry. He'd spent seven long years in prison waiting and wondering, taking the blame for a crime he didn't commit all for her sake, and Athena would be damned if she would ever be the reason behind such misery again.

Sighing, she weighed options for but a moment before finally admitting, "It was just a freaky dream. That's all." She shrugged vaguely, hoping to dismiss the topic as quickly as possible. Much as she was grateful for his concern, at this point she had decided that she would simply prefer not to think about that awful nightmare any longer.

"Oh?" The clever glint of curiosity in his eyes was so familiar that it was hard for her to suppress a smile. "And would you care to enlighten me as to its contents?"

Though the words themselves were brusque and abrupt, his tone of voice was quiet, contemplative, and the look on his face reflected nothing but patience. In court, Simon had a reputation for being quick-tempered and impatient, with a profound hatred for anything that could qualify as unnecessary chatter, but with her, he always had been a touch . . . kinder. Of course, he was no Mr. Rogers, but compared to his courtroom etiquette, his attitude around Athena was as sweet as gingerbread.

Athena looked down reluctantly, the words on the tip of her tongue, though she stubbornly withheld from actually voicing them. Bringing up the subject of her nightmare would just force her to admit both to Simon and to herself that perhaps she wasn't having as easy a time putting the past behind her as she let on to everybody else. It was a difficult task, being the spunky, upbeat, and optimistic one all the time, but that was what she had assumed was always a part of being brave! Her mother had always told her to be strong at times like these, and though she'd learned by now that that meant not carrying the burden alone, she would still rather not push her problems onto everybody else. Not only was that unfair, but it was a touch on the dramatic side, as well.

Despite her best efforts, Simon Blackquill didn't need ultra-refined hearing to pick up on the myriad of emotions twisting around in her heart. The tips of his slim fingers brushed against her chin, tilting her head ever so slightly until their eyes locked once again. The look in his eyes remained as cool and reserved as ever, steady and analytic. She could practically see the gears in his head turning.

Regarding her seriously, he muttered, ". . . Please."

_Dammit. _Was that his infamous power of suggestion at work, or was Athena just ridiculously susceptible to every little thing that he said? No matter the answer, Simon seemed thoroughly pleased with himself, that wry little smirk that she knew so well finding its way onto his face once again.

"Don't laugh," she instructed him at last, cocking an eyebrow and sending a cautious glance in his direction. "Okay?"

Simon conceded with a slow nod. "I swear to it on my honor as both a prosecutor and a swordsman," he answered, the barest traces of his dark, offbeat sense of humor coloring his tone of voice.

Athena couldn't help but issue forth a soft breath of laughter, burying her face in his chest. In his own bizarre way, he did try his best to cheer her up and make sure that she was properly taken care of, and she could never possibly hope to repay him for all that. It was strange, but little moments like these just served to make her fall in love with him all over again – she hadn't ever thought that was even possible.

"I-it was awful, Simon," she confessed at last, her shoulders caving in and making her appear to be much smaller than she actually was. The warmth of his body next to her gave her consolation; his heartbeat acted as her anchor, consistent and strong. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she pressed forward. "They were holding your trial all over again, only this time . . . this time, I couldn't save you. I failed. I kept screaming for them to listen to me, to give me another chance to help prove your innocence, but . . . n-no one would pay attention or even look at me." Wrapping her arms more tightly around him, she swallowed heavily, doing her best to calm the anxiety that even talking about it had called forth.

Silence spanned between them for what seemed like an eternity. His body was very still against hers, but he was far from relaxed. Rather, he was listening carefully, drinking in every word, every muscle tensed as though he truly were a brave samurai preparing to leap into a dangerous battle. Surprise washed over her when she suddenly felt the sensation of his fingers moving through her hair; for a moment, she went rigid, startled by the gesture. Such physical displays of affection were rare with Simon Blackquill, and as a result, Athena had grown to love them dearly whenever the chance arose. As the movements of his fingers settled into a comfortable rhythm, she relaxed once again, a calm little smile wavering into place on her face.

Just when she began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep again or not, Simon mused quietly, "Yes, well . . . it goes without saying that your fears are derived from dreams and their falsities alone, nothing more." So close were they in proximity to one another that she could now feel his warm gusts of breath against the shell of her ear. "Even in the event that all that you saw had been real, I would have inevitably found my way back to you."

Athena chuckled softly, nuzzling against his chest. "Really? I thought you said you'd have to settle down into Hell if you were found guilty." There was a short pause, and after brief consideration, she added thoughtfully, "That still probably wouldn't matter. I'd walk through Hell, too, if it meant I could bring you back."

"Heh. That would be easy."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. Everything's so easy for Simon the Samurai." Athena cracked a mischievous grin, enjoying it thoroughly when she was able to earn a low rumble of laughter from him in return.

Daring to give the curve of her ear a playful, roguish little nibble, Simon responded, "You would indeed be quite staggered to learn the boundless capabilities of a man with a motivation."

Giggling, Athena said in a ridiculous imitation of Blackquill's voice, "Oh, yeah? _Enlighten me_."

"Hm . . . some other time, perhaps, Cykes-dono." Twirling a strand of hair around his index finger absently, Simon murmured, "For now, would not a return to the ever-peaceful Elysian fields be a preferable option?"

Scoffing and playfully rolling her eyes, she leaned in to press a kiss to the hollow of his pale throat. "If by all that heightened lingo you mean _sleeping_," she mumbled against the clean-shaven smoothness of his skin, "then yes. I guess you're right. Goodness knows we can't have you wandering around the house even crankier than _usual _tomorrow morning."

Simon at least deigned to give a low hum of mild interest, apparently appeased by her words of agreement and approval. Still, her refined hearing caught an undercurrent of something else; his heart was still clinging to that concern he'd held earlier, his unfailing protectiveness regarding her well-being revealing itself once more. He'd always been that way, preferring to remain a guardian in secret rather than make his sentiments obvious, but it never failed to shoot a tingly warmth throughout her entire body, to ignite that tugging sensation just behind her naval that urged her ever closer to him.

"I trust that your fears have been placated, then, oh little canary?" he asked her, his quiet, ever-pensive baritone slashing through the prolonged silence as cleanly and precisely as one of his finely-tempered blades.

Athena gave him a soft smile, cheeks glowing at the words 'little canary'. That had been another of his many nicknames for her growing up due to her love for the color yellow, and the callback to their past together never failed to send her stomach into somersaults – the very best kind. "Yes," she answered with a nod. "Thank you, Simon. I'm sorry I woke you up. It's just that . . . I just don't ever want to lose you again. It already drives me crazy that you had to spend so many years in that prison cell all because of me."

"Ha. According to an ancient Japanese proverb, _the man who falls down seven times stands up eight times._ I believe you would be more familiar with the colloquial, 'no pain, no gain'." His eyes met hers with his usual subdued intensity, and as he reached out and brushed a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, he all but whispered, "What was my prison sentence but the whetstone upon which my resolve was ultimately sharpened?"

Their gazes locked, and after a nonsensically dramatic pause, Athena sputtered with laughter, sweeping him into an embrace once again. Raining little kisses onto his neck, she mumbled affectionately, "Oh, stop with your metaphors and just let me kiss your stupid face already."

"That's just as well," he breathed, but he'd scarcely completed the final syllable of his sentence before Athena had shifted up and pressed her mouth to his. She took delight in hearing a muffled noise of surprise lift from the back of his throat; encouraged, she reached up and slid her fingers into his shockingly soft hair, idly massaging his scalp as their lips moved together.

Athena loved the way that Simon kissed her. In a complete contrast to the intensity of his personality, he held her so gently, moved so carefully, as though he were frightened that she might crumble apart in his arms. Yet, there was a sort of yearning behind all the shyness, a melancholy undercurrent to his every move that suggested he was simply trying to win back all the years they'd lost with one another. Love made itself known in such strange ways sometimes; Simon didn't even need to say it for her to know it was true. If she were being perfectly honest, she probably didn't even need her special ability to realize the truth. The love was there in his actions, and it had been all along.

"Get some rest," she practically purred when they had broken apart, reaching out to cup his cheek in her hand. Her thumb idly stroked along the pronounced curve of his cheekbone as she added, "I'm feeling okay now. Don't worry."

Simon had closed his eyes as she'd caressed his cheek with her thumb, but at the end of her sentence, he cracked one eye open, that same wicked little smirk curving into place along the contours of his thin mouth. "Oh, you were under the impression that I was concerned for _you_? How unfortunate that my actions have been so misleading. You see, I woke with the sole intention of ensuring that Taka was sleeping soundly." He was joking in his own weird, offbeat little way, but to anyone that didn't know him as well as she did, he might have actually sounded half-serious.

"Pffft, whatever, bird boy," she muttered, unable to help it as she cracked a rueful grin. Quickly, she leaned in and pressed a chaste little kiss to the tip of his nose, saying, "It's time to get some shut-eye. I hope you _and _Taka sleep well, and I'll see you in the morning."

"Mmhm."

"Good night, Simon."

"Hmph" was his articulate response.

Stifling more laughter, Athena grinned cheekily to herself and nestled in closer to him, fingers tracing along the curve of his back. Eventually, his arms twined their way around her, as well, one hand finding the small of her back, the other resting comfortably in the space between her shoulders. It wasn't long at all before the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest indicated that he'd fallen asleep once again. Panic laid to rest at last, Athena's eyelids drooped, heavy as lead, and the whispers of his heart lulled her back to sleep once again.


	2. Cooties

_**2. cooties**_

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><p>All this trouble had begun with a seemingly innocuous sneeze.<p>

He'd been sitting in his office, hunched over his glossy, ornate desk and busily poring over the files pertaining to the current case under his jurisdiction, plucking folder after folder from the precarious tower of manila in the right-hand corner of the table. It had been so long since he'd last had an actual office in which he could prepare his cases rather than just a cold prison cell, and needless to say, he'd relished every moment of us thus far. That said, he'd been so absorbed in his work that he'd hardly noticed when he'd been struck with a sudden tingling in his nostrils, followed by a quick sneeze into his sleeve. The Prosecutor's Office had a tendency to be an extraordinary level of dusty, so of course, he'd thought nothing of it at the time.

And now, merely a day later, Simon Blackquill felt like death incarnate.

The general stuffiness with which he was afflicted made his head feel abnormally large and heavy, the persistent ache in his temples penetrating so deeply into his skull that he could scarcely think properly. Even as he simply rested, motionless, on the couch, the world spun dizzily around him, his stomach roiling and twisting itself into tight knots. The sun streaming in through the windows across the room felt far too bright, the colors of the apartment itself far too vibrant; even when he closed his eyes and attempted to fall asleep, the headache remained to taunt him that much more. Then, to make matters worse, he'd also begun to develop a rather nasty cough, and as a result, his throat felt rather like it had been taken to with a cheese grater.

Lovely. Absolutely bloody _lovely_.

Fate truly was a cruel mistress. Of all the people in that accursed building to be plagued with this wretched sickness, why did it have to be him? Why now? Why, when he was so close to finally finishing off the last of his case reports, prepared to go to court with all his proverbial ducks in a row, did this curse descend upon him and render him unable to work? He'd spent seven years in a prison cell and had scarcely caught even the mildest case of the sniffles – how was it possible that out in the real world, he was suddenly susceptible to this monstrosity of a cold?

He supposed that it was simply an instance of karma. Horrible, horrible karma. Why, a mere week or two ago, he'd stood in court and prosecuted a particularly nasty murder trial; the judge had shown up and presided over the case while battling an atrocious cold, himself, only to Simon's amusement. Throughout the entire trial, he had been unable to help himself and had cracked one sarcastic comment after the other about His Baldness' terrible case of the sniffles. And now it seemed that it had come around to . . . well, to 'bite him in the butt', simply put.

Apparently, Simon was not the only one aggrieved by the cold with which he'd been stricken. Seeing as he had spent all day lying on the sofa and making a desperate attempt to steal back whatever sanity he'd sneezed out already, he hadn't had nearly as much time or energy to devote to the care of his beloved hawk, Taka. He'd been able to drag himself to his feet long enough to feed the bird as consistently as usual, but that was just about all he was capable of doing. This, naturally, did not resonate well at all with Taka, who was accustomed to and believed he was deserving of near-constant undivided attention.

Certainly not for the first time today, Simon was jerked quite rudely and suddenly from his thoughts by a loud caw from the aforementioned hawk. He flinched slightly, a bit jarred by the noise after having spent such a lengthy amount of time in silence, and promptly sighed, pushing his fingers through his dark, disheveled bangs.

"Enough, Taka," he groaned, his baritone voice made slightly deeper and more gravelly due to his cough and congestion. "Bloody hell . . . !"

Looking rather affronted by this, the bird beat his wings against the air before taking off from his perch and flapping away, presumably into the bedroom, where most of the pet supplies were kept. Simon shook his head and, with an exasperated huff, burrowed his face further into the piles of pillows accompanying him on the sofa. Much as he loved his pet, he was in no state of mind today to be able to properly deal with an attention-starved fowl of prey.

The prosecutor closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the light, but even then, it did little to quell the throbbing in his head. How very cruelly ironic it was that the first time he'd felt genuinely sleepy in months was only because he had come down with such an unbearable cold! Typically, his insomnia tended to keep him up at all hours of the night, and even on the rare nights in which he did find sleep, his mind was often plagued with horrific nightmares of the past. And now, here he was, wishing to sleep away his cold during the day and kept awake by fits of coughing at night!

It seemed as though Simon had spent an eternity in blissful silence (or, at least, the closest thing he could achieve to bliss in his current state) before the sound of the front door opening cut away the quietude in one fell blow. The young man's eyes snapped open in response to the noise, and though he was momentarily nonplussed, realization sunk into his mind less than a beat later. After all, the interloper upon his privacy could be none other than the very woman with whom he shared this place of residence.

His suppositions were confirmed when he heard a voice from the doorway greet him with a chipper, "Hey there, stranger! What're you doing home so early?"

Simon twisted around on the sofa in order to face the front door; sure enough, Athena Cykes stood there before him, moving to close the door quietly behind her. As their gazes locked, she gave him a wave, a broad grin spreading across her perpetually-bright features. She looked remarkably, almost ridiculously pleased to see him, as if they had been parted for months rather than mere hours. Though, he supposed he couldn't entirely blame her for that much; after spending seven years rotting away in chains, he certainly could understand it if, even now, she could hardly bring herself to believe that the two of them had reunited for good this time around.

A rueful smirk ambled across his face, gray eyes glinting with a hint of his usual razor-sharp amusement. "Good afternoon, Cykes-dono," he welcomed in return, giving his head a quick, polite nod. "I have a bit of a confession for you – when I woke this morning, I came to the conclusion that I should like nothing better than a temporary retreat from the Prosecutor's Office, and so I saw fit to claim this day as my own. And, as you can see, I have been quite productive," he added dryly, a short breath of ironic laughter escaping between his lips. Well, if nothing else, it seemed that at least his tongue-in-cheek sense of humor had not been damaged one bit by his cold.

Athena laughed, raising her eyebrows quizzically and giving him a quick once-over from where she stood near the door. Eventually, when it seemed that she had gathered enough information for her liking, she moved over to where he sat, still eyeing him with that insatiable curiosity of hers. Once she'd reached the couch, she patted his legs and, after telling him to "scooch over", she'd made herself at home right beside him, drawing her knees up to her chest and fixing him with a looked that somehow mixed amusement and skepticism together all in one.

"Yeah, right," she snorted, the grin never leaving her face, despite her dubiousness. "Come off it, buddy – you're always the one going on and on about how happy you are to finally have an office and not a prison cell. You love it there! And plus, you're totally not the type of guy to just decide that you want a day off when you're due to appear in court not too long from now." Fixing him with a knowledgeable stare, she smirked a bit and reached out, poking him lightly, playfully in the shin. "Sooo, spill. What's really the matter?"

_Apparently Widget is not at all adept in the art of detecting sarcasm,_ Simon thought wryly.

Still, he cleared his throat, sighing and pulling himself up into a sitting position on the couch. Chin in the air, he looked off to the side and, after giving an indignant little sniff, muttered with thick dignity, "I seem to have come down with an absolute bugger of a cold."

Immediately, the doubtfulness was washed away from her features, replaced by a look of immense concern. Honestly – it was as if he'd just said that he had been forcibly amputated rather than afflicted with a case of the common cold! Around her neck, her little gadget, Widget, turned bright yellow, his electronic face transforming into an expression of surprise. Her hand flew to cover her mouth, which had dropped agape in an aghast 'O', while the other quickly went to his forehead. Her palm was soothingly cool against the feverish heat of his skin.

"Oh, Simon!" she gasped. "I'm sorry! Hm . . . geez, you're burning up. When exactly was the last time that you checked your temperature, anyway?" She brushed back his bangs, an oddly maternal gesture for someone ten years younger than he. The expression on her face seemed a mixture of thoughtfulness and worry.

As she ran her fingers gently through his hair, he considered her question. He could only offer a vague shrug in return as he said, "Perhaps this morning, though I don't believe that I paid it much heed at the time. There was an agitated hawk on my hands that wished to be fed, and the more time I wasted dawdling, the more bloodied my hands would inevitably become," he explained with a dry grin. Though Taka was very particular and often only allowed Simon himself to handle him without objection, no one was completely exempt from the bird's wrath, and even his owner had fallen prey to Taka's incessant pecking every once in a while.

Athena, of course, seemed none too thrilled with this news. Even as he'd spoken the first syllable, he'd anticipated as much. The two were eerily similar in that respect, the more that he thought on it. They approached it in different ways, of course, but they were both so deeply protective of one another. Though he preferred to remain a protector to her in secret and let his actions reflect how deeply he cared for the girl, she instead chose to be loud and direct about her concerns – and certainly had no problem telling anyone what she felt was the right thing to do. Though he often pretended to express exasperation with her because of it, in truth it was quite possibly his favorite quality of hers.

"Sh-shame on you, birdbrain!" she stammered, almost instantly bringing both hands close to her chest and clenching them into tight, shaking fists. "Don't you know that you're supposed to keep track of that stuff all day when you're sick? Especially if you're feeling _really_ bad like this!" For emphasis, she extended her leg and kicked him lightly, only just enough to jostle him slightly to the side.

Sighing, Simon replied as patiently as possible, "I hardly think that to be at all necessary, Athena—"

"Trust me, I know what I'm talking about here! My mom _was_ a doctor, y'know!" Springing up from the couch, she bustled towards the kitchen, saying, "Hey, I know – are you feeling hungry? I could fix us both some soup, I mean, I was feeling the hunger pains pretty strong, myself, so . . ." her voice faded as she disappeared into the tiny kitchen, drowned out slightly by the clattering and clanging of pots and pans as she searched for the proper cookware.

"As it so happens, your mother was a _psychologist_, not a medical doctor," he called back, though the nasal congestion and general soreness of his throat made it difficult to increase the volume of his voice so that it carried over the commotion she was raising in the next room over. "And I hardly think a bowl of _soup _would stand as an effective remedy," he grumped, massaging his temples. "_Rest_, on the other hand . . ."

Hearing this, Athena responded, "Yeah, yeah. But just try it, okay? My mother might not have been that kind of doctor, but this is what she always used to do for me when I got sick, remember? How much harm could it be? Besides, you can't just _not eat_, Simon."

As a matter of fact, he remembered Metis's cold remedy for Athena quite well. It had been so long ago, and as time had gone by, his memories of that period in his life had gotten progressively foggier. How strange that of all the little inklings that did survive, that one in particular happened to be one of them. He could recall with astonishing clarity walking in to the space center one afternoon and seeing little Athena, clunky headphones and all, curled up on a couch in the lounge area, covered in blankets. In her lap had sat a bowl of steaming hot soup. When he'd greeted her, she'd groaned in response, "Hey, Simon – I feel like crud!"

The memory alone was enough to bring a doleful little smirk to his features. Heaving a sigh (albeit a dramatic one), he nodded and at last deigned to concede to her wishes. "Very well," he granted, "if you truly wish it so greatly as all that, then I agree to your terms."

"Hey, what do you know? Simon Blackquill sees it my way for a change!" Athena joked, giggling to herself. Though they were in different rooms, he could practically see the grin on her face as she added mischievously, "Heheh – maybe I've been around you for so long that I'm starting to adopt your power of suggestion!"

Simon caved and offered a mild hum of laughter in response to this statement. Shifting his position on the couch in order to allow greater comfort, he answered thoughtfully, "If ever you seriously wished to devote your time to learning it, I've little doubt that you could indeed accomplish it. Given both your affinity for analytical psychology and your colleagues' incorrigible gullibility, I imagine that you would pick up on it rather swiftly." His familiar smirk returned to his features and he emitted another laugh, though this one was considerably haughtier than the last.

"Hey, now, stand down," Athena said, though even she was chuckling at his joke. "Those 'incorrigibly gullible' co-workers of mine are the ones that helped save your butt and mine, remember?"

In response to this, the dark-haired prosecutor gave a nod of agreement. "Certainly," he said. "Only a madman would dare argue as to the extent of their efforts on both our behalves, I assure you." Still, even as he said this, a wicked flash of blasé amusement entered his intelligent eyes. "Still, this does little to alter the fact that they have the nasty habit of investing too deeply in whichever story tickles their fancies the greatest at any given moment. True?"

"Hm . . . yeah, I guess so," she settled after a momentary pause. As if it were punctuating her sentence, a _CLANG_ echoed from the kitchen – presumably Athena adjusting the lid on whichever pot she happened to be using. "Still! If it weren't for that, then Mr. Wright might never have wanted to help us both out at all! It's a good thing that he believed in us as much as he did. I mean, pretty much everybody else was totally not on our sides. Even . . ."

"Yes, even Justice-dono," Simon finished, lifting a hand and allowing his fingertips to brush against his chin as he contemplated the past. "Hm. As it so happens, a former inmate of mine – who, as fate would have it, was a rather established war hero, or something akin to it prior to his conviction – once said to me that it took far greater courage to stand in opposition to one's friends rather than one's enemies."

No sooner had he completed the final syllable of his sentence than did Athena poke her head out from behind the entryway to the kitchen, a broad grin written all across her features. Her eyes were positively alight with humor and, if he wasn't mistaken, unbridled affection. Around her neck, Widget had turned a jovial shade of green, his expression reflecting nothing but complete contentment.

Laughing, she stepped ever so slightly out of the kitchen and leaned against the archway, arms folded neatly across her chest. "Well, at least being sick hasn't hindered your ability to just pluck random prison parables off the top of your head, huh?" she pointed out, seeming thoroughly pleased with her own joke.

At this, Simon snorted, rolling his eyes and cracking the barest traces of a grin. It had been a while since such a genuine display of emotion – of _happiness_, at that – had crossed his features. How fitting that such a thing should happen when he was around Athena, of all people. "Oh. I see. Am I not permitted to take enjoyment in what little benefits my prison sentence wrought for me?" he fired back with a low chuckle of his own.

"Hmph. Not unless you're going to have a better attitude about it," Athena responded, feigning annoyance. After a moment, however, whatever false anger she'd worked to put on her face dissolved into more laughter as she crossed the room, heading back over to the couch and plopping down with no further preamble right beside him. Scooting in a little closer, she even dared to rest her chin on his knee, smirking as she added, "You can be such a know-it-all sometimes, Simon Blackquill."

Now it was Simon's turn to reach out and brush her bangs away from her face; their gazes met, and in the prolonged silence that followed, he studied her features with that same thoughtful intensity for which he was so renowned. Though this was hardly the first occasion in which he'd taken note of it, he couldn't help but be struck with bewilderment at how she had blossomed into such a lovely young woman. When he remembered how she was as a child, so quiet and shy, so lonely, it seemed completely remarkable to him that this was the very same Athena Cykes he'd once known at all.

"Heh. Is that right?" he asked her when the silence had persisted for a bit too long. Reserved amusement flickered momentarily across his features, along with – as always whenever he looked at her – a sort of unspoken affection that seemed unique to his personality. "If that is indeed the case, then perhaps I ought to simply refrain from informing you that you would do well to not forget that soup of yours, or else risk it becoming overcooked." He lifted his eyebrows matter-of-factly, lips curving into a devious little quirk of a smile.

At this, Athena only snickered, shifting her position so that now, she was seated upright instead of propped up against his knees. Moving his legs so that she could lean across, she mumbled, "Oh, can it, you," and before he knew it, her lips were melded to his. A noise of vague protest escaped the back of his throat at first, but when she moved to deepen the kiss, he sighed against her mouth and relaxed into the gesture, raising his left hand to stroke his thumb along her cheekbone.

When they broke apart, Simon gave a breathy laugh and shook his head, muttering, "I hope that you know how dearly you are going to come to regret that kiss in a few days' time. You, Cykes-dono, are going to fall extremely ill."

"Yeah, fat chance of that," she quipped in response, leaning forward slightly so that she could take his face in her hands, her touch feather-light against the contours of his cheeks. "Relax, I'm not gonna get your cooties. I have an immune system of steel! I'll just . . . I'll chug vitamin water and get lots of rest and – and sanitize!" Her facial expression twisted into one of gritty determination, fists clenched, Widget glowing bright red. In an instant, though, she relaxed and darted in to give Simon another kiss, this time a chaste one to the right cheek. "You're cute when you worry about me."

"Hmph," he responded gruffly, though even the expert of deception himself was unable to hide the blush that was slowly, steadily creeping onto his face. "Yes, well . . . we shall see how very cute you find it when it is you wasting away on this couch and not me," he tacked on with a smug little smirk.

"No way!" she replied, and with a dismissive wave of her hand, she proceeded to describe in excruciating detail how she was currently as 'healthy as a horse', and had absolutely nothing at all to worry about.

Imagine the Twisted Samurai's boundless mirth when, a mere three days later, much to her immediate dismay, Athena found out that Simon had been horribly right.


	3. Treasure

_**3. treasure**_

* * *

><p>Athena had never liked cemeteries. Their intent was to serve as quiet, hallowed final resting grounds for peoples' loved ones, but every time that she was made to visit one, it felt as if it were actually the exact opposite. For a person with sensitive hearing, nothing about graveyards was quiet or subdued; the sadness and anxiety, the fear, the outright bitterness and anger here were all extraordinarily loud, and it often gave her a headache to stay for too long. While the voices of peoples' hearts usually only sounded like little whispers in her ears, whenever she visited a gravesite it was as if the voice of every mourner in the vicinity had decided to shout right in her face instead. Even thinking about it was enough to make her heart race, her muscles tense, and her breath shorten.<p>

Today, she was determined to push through it. Not for her sake, but for Apollo's.

This was a special event, and when her spiky-haired co-worker had informed her of it, she'd been unable to turn it down, despite her innermost apprehensions. Today would have been Clay Terran's birthday, and Apollo wanted to visit his gravesite to commemorate the occasion. He had invited Athena, since she'd been just as involved as he in finding out the truth regarding his best friend's murder, and how exactly could she say no to that? She and Apollo had shared so many milestones together, professionally and personally; if he wished for her to accompany him for something so special and private, then she was honored to do so. And anyway, Clay was another unfortunate casualty of the phantom's duplicity and maliciousness, too – it only felt right to pay her respects from one victim to another.

At least the weather was nice. Though it did little to distract her from the cacophony of emotions around her, Athena was still grateful for the sunshine and the balmy breeze. The sky was mellow blue overhead, vast and endless, dappled occasionally with clouds as ambitiously fluffy as tufts of cotton. The ground was so lush and green beneath her feet that she could almost bring herself to forget about the sheer number of coffins buried several feet below. The beauty and vibrancy of the nature that surrounded her clashed jarringly with the grief and anger she felt in the hearts of the other visitors; disturbed by the discrepancy, she now understood why it was that it always rained in graveyards in the movies. It seemed a more fitting juxtaposition.

Still, she swallowed thickly past the lump in her throat and did her best to cloak her growing sense of disquiet. They had been walking around for about five minutes now in an attempt to find Clay's gravestone, and now it seemed as if they'd stumbled upon it at last. On her left side, Apollo slowed to a halt, the sudden break in their action bringing Athena out of her troubled thoughts and into the present. Her attention now fully focused on her friend, she gave a thoughtful little sigh and glanced to her left, where, sure enough, Apollo stood in front of a stone marker that read "TERRAN".

"This is it?" she breathed, half speaking to herself (if only to drown out the voices of the hearts of the strangers around her).

As she strode slowly over to Apollo's side, he nodded and sank down to one knee. "Yeah," he replied, his voice distant and faraway. "This is the one."

Following suit, Athena went to the ground, as well, although she went as far as to sit directly in the grass with her legs crossed like a grade-schooler. "And you're sure that you're okay with me being here right now?" she asked, glancing over to him, eyebrows raised questioningly. The last thing that she wanted was to be the intruder on foreign soil, the unwelcome interloper that brazenly encroached upon her friend's privacy and grief.

"Of course," he responded patiently, though his eyes hardly wavered at all from the name etched onto the stone marker in front of him. "I wouldn't have asked you to come along if I just wanted to be alone. I know that being here takes a lot out of you." For the first time, he inclined his head towards her, brown eyes studiously gauging her features, and he flashed her a melancholy half-smile. "Thanks for tagging along, Athena."

Offering him a sheepish little grin and a dismissive wave of her hand in return, she replied, "Hey, _no problemo_. I'm happy to do it." Growing a bit more somber, she glanced down at the foot of the headstone, where someone had placed a bouquet of blue and crimson flowers, along with a card enclosed in an envelope with the GYAKA logo embossed on the back. "Huh," she said thoughtfully, reaching out to gently trail her finger along one of the flower's smooth petals. "These are beautiful. Any idea who left them?"

"I was wondering the same thing, myself," Apollo admitted, brows furrowing in thought. "I'd be willing to bet it was Mr. Starbuck. Ever since he got back from his space expedition, he's been visiting down here almost as much as I have."

"Hm . . ." Athena cocked her head to the side slightly, fiddling absently with her moon rock earring as she contemplated the subject for a moment or two. "Well, whoever it was must have put these here recently. They're still fresh and cold, like they were just taken from the flourist's."

"Yeah . . . they're even GYAKA colors. Clay would've really loved them," he answered with a slow nod.

It pained Athena to hear the anguish and outright longing in her friend's voice; what good was being able to read peoples' emotions if you were still powerless to do anything about them? Therapy sessions were all well and good, but figuring out the source of the heartache did very little to actually alleviate the pain in cases of such extreme mourning like this. He had loved Clay all along, and now more than ever, Athena knew it; his heart was calling it out, loud and clear. So many people had lost everything to the UR-1 Incident . . . and even now, after the case's complete resolution, it seemed that the pain would never truly fade.

With a quiet sigh, Athena reached out and gingerly placed her hand upon Apollo's shoulder and patted lightly, hoping the gesture would come as some form of comfort to him. From the beginning, he'd struck her as a very private mourner, always content to say 'I'm fine!' and cover up the bitter truth of his feelings; that said, now that he'd trusted her with accompanying him on a very personal trip, she felt that she had to do her best not to let him down and be the anchor he'd asked her to be. And boy, was she glad that he'd asked her in the first place; when she listened to his heart, she was admittedly rather unnerved by the sheer power of the sadness that lingered there, hidden beneath all the smiles and goofy jokes. No one should ever have to face that alone.

"I'm so sorry, Apollo," she said after a while, casting her gaze downward. "For what it's worth, I think Clay would be really proud of you."

The crimson-clad defense attorney flinched under Athena's touch, but relaxed after a moment and even managed a slight smile – albeit a rueful, weary one. "Hey . . . thanks," he mumbled, reaching out and resting his hand on the top of the gravestone. "I sure hope so."

Athena was infinitely relieved to pick up on the tiniest inkling of joy making itself known in Apollo's heart. It was very faint, almost undetectable, but it was there – the beginnings of the peace that he deserved. Over their time working together for Mr. Wright, he'd grown to be one of Athena's closest friends; after all he'd been through, she could think of no one more deserving of inner serenity than he.

Except perhaps . . . well, the man standing no more than thirty feet away from them.

"H-hey, Apollo! Look!" Athena tapped her friend lightly on the shoulder, nodding over to the right to indicate a tall, intimidating silhouette looming beneath a nearby tree. "Isn't that . . ."

"P-Prosecutor Blackquill!"

Sure enough, it was her favorite samurai wannabe, right there in the flesh. Freedom suited him well; though the shadows under his eyes still remained, they were less pronounced than Athena remembered, and the perpetual exhaustion seemed to have finally left his pallid face. He was dressed in his usual attire, black and white from head to toe, and of course his beloved Taka rested imperiously upon his shoulder. He stood rigidly, formally, but the look in his eyes when he caught sight of Athena and Apollo was anything but; rather, a sharp glint of amusement flickered in his steely eyes, his thin mouth quirking upward into a mischievous little smirk.

She and Simon had remained in close contact following the events of her trial several months back. Bit by bit, he seemed to be returning to the soft-spoken, thoughtful young man she'd once known, although _some traits _(for example, a penchant for snarky comments, smirking, and attacking Athena's friends and acquaintances with his pet hawk) would never truly change. Being freed from those shackles had done more than just physically liberate Simon Blackquill; mentally, he was free, as well. Free from the guilt and the duty he felt he had to carry out, free from the fear of coming to the end of his life as nothing more than another nameless condemned man. All these years, he'd pulled out all the stops to protect and save Athena, but now it turned out that she had been the one to save him in the end.

And geez, that felt freaking _awesome_.

By way of greeting, Taka beat his wings against the air and took off from his master's shoulder, perching himself again on – of all places – Clay's tombstone, where he gazed quizzically at Apollo. Looking as coolly indifferent as ever, Simon headed out from under the shade of the tree and over to where Athena and Apollo sat side-by-side, looking down at them both in that forever-pensive way of his, cocking a curious eyebrow as he did.

"Justice-dono . . . Athena," he greeted with a polite – though admittedly rather stiff-necked – nod in each of their directions. (She couldn't help but notice the casual ease with which he addressed her by simply her first name, and her heart gave the slightest flutter in response.) Though his words were intended for both of them, his gaze remained comfortably in tandem with hers as he said, "I would inquire as to what has brought you here this afternoon, but I believe that we have both been drawn here under similar circumstances."

Gazing warily up at the prosecutor, Apollo replied a bit stiffly, "Today would've been Clay's birthday. I just thought I ought to . . . y'know, pay a visit. And of course, I invited Athena along, too. Uh . . . that isn't why _you're _here, though, is it, Blackquill?" Bemusement settled in on Apollo's face and he gave a somewhat nervous, lopsided grin.

"As the fates would surprisingly have it, yes, actually. It is." Simon's infamous smirk returned to grace his features as its own rueful ghost. "Though I was admittedly not so well-acquainted with Terran as to be aware of such personal details as his birthday, Aura _was_. And, seeing as her recent incarceration has rendered her incapable of conducting visitations in person, she requested that I commemorate the occasion for her by placing a bouquet near the tombstone."

Understanding washed over Athena almost immediately. "Oh," she breathed, glancing back to the grave marker. "So, then, those GYAKA flowers – you left them there, Simon?"

Simon gave a low chuckle in response. "As per Aura's request. In this particular instance, I can take credit for naught but the delivery. It was my sister who demanded the rather specific color scheme."

"So, the note's hers, then, too, I take it?" Apollo surmised, glancing curiously at the envelope attached so neatly to the side of the bouquet.

"Ah . . . no, that would be mine," Simon negated, eyes narrowing slightly against the harshness of the sun's light. "I thought it bewilderingly inappropriate for a man to lay the gifts of another person at the foot of a tombstone without possessing any rapport of his own to offer. You will forgive me, Justice-dono, if my decision comes at any expense to your feelings, seeing as you were far closer to him than I. Though I knew him little, circumstances connected us through this case, and thus I thought it fitting to pen a letter to him. I would not have the man who fell at the hands of the phantom's treachery became yet another one of that despicable spy's nameless, faceless victims."

If anything, Apollo looked more surprised and confused than actually angry with the idea. "Um, yeah!" he said after a short pause, giving his head the slightest shake. "No, I actually think that's really nice of you, Prosecutor Blackquill. Especially when you didn't have to go out of your way to do any of that."

With a soft "hmph", the would-be samurai tilted his chin to the sky, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Looking as contemplative as always, he murmured, "Yes, well . . . perhaps there indeed exists a realm beyond that of our own where your Mr. Terran would look upon my words and judge how he favors it himself."

"Yeah, maybe so," replied Apollo, glancing down awkwardly and beginning to pick at the blades of grass that surrounded him. He never really seemed to know what to say in front of Simon, and, well, Athena couldn't exactly blame him; she'd known him since she was a little girl, and even now, she still found him to be a bit on the intimidating side (though that had certainly gotten a great deal better following the overturning of his conviction). "Well, listen," the attorney piped up after a while, "give Aura my best, okay?"

Simon gave a quick bow, managing to (thankfully) appear legitimately respectful without the slightly condescending edge that he often took on when he and Apollo went head-to-head in court. "You have my word of that," he confirmed, aiming a tiny smirk in the other man's direction. "I imagine that Aura would have my neck if she was made aware of the fact that I inadvertently ran into you, Justice-dono, and neglected to mention her to you or vice-versa."

"Eheheh! You don't say . . . geez, another Blackquill doing their turn in there," Apollo answered, shaking his head and idly massaging the back of his neck. "How's she holding up, by the way?"

With a harsh bark of laughter, Simon said, "She is faring well of late, as a matter of fact. Surprisingly enough, she gets on well with her fellow inmates. Though, I suspect that's most likely because she has finally found herself amongst people that are just as good – if not better – at taking the piss than she." As if to punctuate his sentence, he gave a derisively amused little snort, glancing down at his feet for a moment. Out of the corner of her eye, Athena saw Apollo mouth '_taking the piss?',_ an expression of outright befuddlement on his face. She simply stifled a giggle, fairly well accustomed to Simon's incorporation of obscure slang by this point, and lifted her head when she heard the prosecutor continue speaking. "And now, if you have no objections, I wonder if you would allow me to take Cykes-dono off your hands for but a moment."

"Athena?" Apollo repeated, glancing in her direction for a moment before returning his gaze to Blackquill. "Um . . . sure, I guess. If she doesn't mind."

Shifting her position and half-rising to her feet, Athena nodded, but turned back to Apollo quickly and reaffirmed, "Just as long as you're sure you don't need me for anything."

"Yeah . . . I'll be fine," he answered with a nod, turning back to gingerly trail his fingertips along the engraving of Clay's last name as he spoke.

This exchange seemed to amuse Simon even more greatly. Eyes positively alight with his usual snarky sense of humor, he said glibly, "I vow to return her to you completely intact, Justice-dono." A beat later, he cast a glance in her direction and added, as if offering a warning, "Taka, however, may not elect to be quite as merciful." The twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth, along with the undercurrents of humor that she could hear in his voice, were prime indicators that he was simply joking, but to anyone else, he might have actually been quite intimidating in that instance.

Having heard the sound of his name, Taka perked up almost instantly and took off once again, landing promptly on Simon's shoulder. Bird in tow, he extended his arm and allowed Athena to wrap one arm around his elbow, leading her off in the opposite direction. For several paces, they walked in a comfortable silence; he had a long, easy stride, while she had to walk more quickly in order to keep up with his taller legs.

When the silence still persisted and it didn't seem as though Simon was going to do anything about it anytime soon, Athena cleared her throat and dared to ask, "So, uh . . . what exactly was it that you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Here," he said, gesturing to a bench underneath a nearby tree. "Sit down, first and foremost." Taking direction from his own words, he sank down onto the bench with a quiet sigh, with Athena following suit seconds later. She absentmindedly smoothed out the wrinkles in her clothing as she met his game, waiting for him to explain himself. "It just so happens that Aura brought something to my attention today," he began without further preamble. "A letter, as a matter of fact. Addressed to you."

Athena raised her eyebrows, not quite certain that she followed yet. The only letter of which he'd made mention so far had been the one he wrote to Clay, after all. "A letter?" she repeated lamely, not quite sure what to make of this news. "Wh-why would Aura write me a letter?"

The question only caused Simon to laugh, in that same ridiculous way that he did when he insisted on laughing at his own jokes in court. "Fortunately for you," he clarified, "Aura has done no such thing. Rather, the author is someone much dearer to the letter's intended recipient." Gradually returning to his usual somber attitude, he searched her facial expression in that inquisitive, methodical way of his as he said, "Your mother wrote it for you, Cykes-dono."

"M-My . . . mother?" _Alright, Athena, now you're just starting to sound like a damn parrot. _Blinking with incredulity, she leaned forward slightly and asked, "Really? W-well, do you have it? Can I read it?"

The news alone was enough to make her feel as if she'd been hit in the face with a pillowcase full of bricks. A letter from her mother? All those years that Athena had viewed Metis as distant and indifferent to her daughter, as some winter wind that only swept through occasionally throughout the year but never seemed to want to stay . . . only to find with the resolution of the UR-1 Incident that, all along, she had cared for her in her own – albeit different – way. She'd thought all along that the moon rock earring and Widget were all that she had left to remember her mother by, but now this revelation came along . . . and instantly, she couldn't help but be gripped with apprehension. What if the letter said all the things that Athena was afraid of? What if she'd been angry with her when she'd written it? What if it were some dark confession that would change her view of her mother for good?

Simon chuckled. "Just what sort of reprehensible man do you take me for? I am hardly the sort to instill hopes within another without the intent to honor my words," he pointed out, and indeed, Athena believed him. Courtroom manipulator though he might be, Simon Blackquill was no liar or traitor – at least, never to her. She watched in silence as he ducked his head and fished around in the inside pocket of his dark jacket; after what seemed like an eternity, he found what he was looking for – a white envelope with her name printed on the front – and held it out to her. "Peruse it at your own pace," he instructed. "It was my hope that I would give it to you in a more . . . er, comfortable setting than this, but I suppose now is as good a time as any. And in the event that you are wondering, no, I have not yet read it for myself – nor do I intend to, unless you grant me permission."

Swallowing heavily, Athena reached out and took the letter. The paper suddenly felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds in her hands. For a few seconds, she cradled it in her grasp as gingerly as though it were an infant or a precious jewel, frightened that even the slightest touch would send it crumbling into ash. She'd been grateful enough to get the earring and Widget from her mother, but this . . . this was something incredibly personal and intimate, something that had likely been lost for years before resurfacing in some obscure hiding place. She hesitated for a moment, unsure if she would like what she found when she opened it . . . then, steeling herself against her fears, she took a deep breath and slid her thumb carefully along the lip of the envelope, opening it. She fished out the letter, and, hands shaking, unfolded it.

"To my most precious treasure," Athena read aloud, cursing herself mentally for being unable to control the wavering in her voice.

_My dear, I know that things are difficult for our family right now. I know that your ears have been paining you more and more with every day, and it absolutely destroys me that I can't offer you a remedy as soon as I would like to. Just know that I am working very hard, and I hope that one day, I can give you peace and the chance to truly experience your life; hopefully, in doing so, I can help your special gift be more like a blessing than a curse. I also know that you must feel as though I never have time for you, and for that, I want to apologize. Sweet Athena, I work tirelessly throughout the day in my lab to make things better for you – for all of us, really, but you are the priority – and it is never my intention to neglect you. I'm sorry for the rift that I sense growing between us lately. Know that I love you with all my heart, and even though I must seem uncaring and faraway to you, I would do anything to ensure your safety._

_I am so indescribably proud of you. You will go places! I can't wait to watch you grow up and change the world. _

_Happy birthday, darling. I hope you enjoy the present! (And if you ask nicely, I bet Simon will watch them all with you!) _

_Love always,_

_Mom_

It took Athena several seconds to realize that her vision had gone blurry. She blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear the haze from her eyes, only to realize that the fogginess was caused by unshed tears. They stung and prickled at the backs of her eyes, and suddenly, her throat felt as if it might close up entirely. Taking a shaky breath, she lifted a hand and pressed the heel of her palm into her left eye, then her right, sniffling for a moment before squaring her shoulders and getting herself together. She refused to cry now, even in front of Simon, who undoubtedly would have let her do so if she wished it.

"This letter . . . it was supposed to be a birthday card," she managed eventually, thankful that at least her voice wasn't tremoring as much as before. "This must've been the year that she bought me all those DVDs of that old show, The Steel Samurai – the letter mentions you watching them with me. Still . . . I wonder why I never got this." Pensively, she turned the note over in her hands, folding it up neatly as she did. "Where did Aura find this?"

Simon reached up and idly scratched the side of his head; as he mulled it over, she could practically envision all the wheels in his head turning. "I haven't the foggiest," he confessed at last. "She made no mention of its previous location – only that Clonco had kept it safe all this time. However, I wouldn't be at all astonished if it simply became lost amongst all the rubbage that constantly occupied that laboratory." After a moment's pause, his lips quirked into the thinnest traces of a smirk. "That said, I find it more surprising still that my sister did not see that letter burned the instant she realized that it was addressed to you."

Athena snorted. "Yeah, really," she responded, remembering none too fondly her last encounter with Aura Blackquill. People who thought Simon was bad truly needed to meet her; she made her brother look sweet and innocent as a little kitten in a tree! The young defense attorney cleared her throat, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and gazing thoughtfully down at the paper in her hands as she added, "She really _did _love me, didn't she? My mother, I mean."

When Athena dared to look up again, she was surprised to find a sort of . . . well, gentleness to Simon's gaze that she hadn't seen from him in a long while. Of course, when she'd been a little girl and he had just been the hopeful boy studying under her mother, he'd been patient and kind with her, quiet and unassuming. But meeting him again in court years later had been a different story entirely; while he had never been extraordinarily nice or friendly, he'd been even more intense than usual in court, spewing out snarky comments near-constantly and being the King of Condescending. It had all been an icy front, of course, but . . . now she was infinitely grateful to see that the Simon she'd once known was breaking through to the surface once again. (At least, for her.)

"Yes, well, I should think the answer to that question would be obvious by this point," Simon answered, the smirk returning to his features, a teasing undercurrent entering his tone of voice. Growing a bit more serious, he met her gaze and murmured, "Perhaps her methodology was a tad unorthodox, but I have never for a moment doubted that your mother held a wealth of affections for you. You present me with a tremendous amount of credit for protecting you, Athena, and for that I am unquestionably grateful . . . however, it would seem that you still neglect to realize that your mother protected you all along with just as much ferocity."

A faint dusting of pink colored her cheeks. "I guess it's just hard to imagine that people would go to all that much trouble for me," she admitted sheepishly.

Before she knew it, Simon's pale, cool hand covered her own, his thumb tracing light circles along the outside of her palm. The sensation was familiar, even stabilizing in a way; it conjured up images of home in her mind, of feeling a sense of welcoming, of belonging. In that instant, it hit her like a freight train just how much she'd truly _missed _the man before him, and her chest tightened with a multitude of different unnamable emotions. She could recall being a little girl and growing close to Simon, eventually even developing a crush on him; ridiculously enough, it still felt the same even now, all the withheld affection flooding back to her at once and making itself known as an embarrassing heat in her cheeks, even on the tips of her ears.

"After all this time, Cykes-dono," Simon began when the quietude had stretched just an instant too long, "is it truly a possibility that you still have absolutely no idea how completely, ardently wanted you are?"

Athena looked up immediately, sensing something decidedly . . . different in his tone of voice. Affection. And, if she wasn't mistaken, it was in the _romantic _context. The voice of his heart was warm and surprisingly inviting, soft and quiet in contrast to the sharpness and intensity of his personality as a whole. She studied him carefully, hardly able to comprehend the different feelings she was picking up from him; yet, there they were, as tangible as anything.

Perhaps it was those emotions precisely that drove her to lean forward and press the lightest of kisses to his mouth. And perhaps they were what compelled him, startled as he was, to relax into the gesture rather than pull away. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, the kiss deepened, and his fingers had twined themselves in her hair; she took quick, shallow breaths and moved slightly forward, enjoying most of all their closeness. He was here, right beside her, where he belonged, not locked away in some cold prison cell to just wither away for eternity.

Maybe he was right – maybe she could never possibly understand the truth depth of her mother's love for her. Confident though she may be, Athena had always been one to put the needs of others before herself, and as a result often tended to brush thoughts of her own self-worth off to the side. Such behavior, combined with her mother's history of being rather aloof and socially-awkward, often led Athena to misjudge how important she must have been in Metis Cykes' eyes. And now, here Simon was, showing her just how wrong she'd been all along.

Even if she wasn't fully aware of the entirety of her worth just yet . . . she couldn't help but feel as if she were beginning to understand.


	4. Silence

_**4. silence**_

* * *

><p>For the first time in what seemed to be an eternity, the apartment had adopted a state of blissful stillness. Such an occurrence was a rarity indeed, given that both Simon Blackquill and his newfound girlfriend (though he despised the word, found it both juvenile and an inadequate means of describing the enormity of their importance to one another), Athena Cykes, led rather active lifestyles. Both were avidly involved with the courtroom, and in the days following their weighty, intimidating decision to move in together, their hectic work schedules had only seemed to intensify. Simon found that the busy workdays did not bother him so terribly – any chance he was given to enjoy his freedom to investigate without the restraints of being considered a convict on death row was a prime opportunity in his book – but even he had to admit, they could at times be cumbersome and difficult to adjust to. Though he suspected that Athena was having greater trouble with that aspect than he; Wright Anything Agency had grown increasingly popular of late, given their success with the Phantom trial months ago, and having so many clients knocking at their doors, so many interested parties wanting to learn more about analytical psychology from Athena, had her – rather understandably – quite staggered.<p>

Tonight, though, it seemed that they would be granted a temporary respite from the hustle and bustle that ordinarily plagued their lives. Even Simon, as much as he loved keeping busy, was grateful for the reprieve. His mind could only handle so many cases at one time before it ceased to run smoothly and efficiently, after all. And as deeply focused an individual as he considered himself to be, he could not by any means deny the benefits of the occasional break. Despite the fact that his insomnia prevented him from ever gaining any truly restful, rewarding hours of uninterrupted sleep, the chance to simply lie down with a book, relaxing his muscles and allowing his mind to rest was absolutely golden, nonetheless.

Coincidentally, that happened to be what he was doing at the moment. He'd curled up on the sofa in the living room, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, a well-worn copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare propped in his lap. He was mid-way through _Troilus and Cressida _at present, and had been deeply immersed in it for the past fifteen minutes or so. Even Taka, his beloved hawk, seemed to sense the preciousness of the placidity that had befallen the apartment this evening, and in place of his usual _awking _and flying around, causing trouble, he had perched himself quietly on the top of a nearby bookshelf, preening and casting disinterested little glances across the room. Such an action certainly was not to be taken lightly, for Taka loved mischief every bit as much – if not more – than his master.

Gone were Simon's elaborate trappings that he usually wore to work – his long, black cloak had been hung on the rack just to the right of the front door, and his vest was neatly folded up inside the drawer next to the bed – and instead, he simply lounged in a white shirt and dark slacks. It was a casual style of dress that only Athena had witnessed before. (Well, to an extent, he supposed his inmates had, as well, but he would hardly count that as anything meaningful.) Even now, he couldn't help but give a soft chuckle to himself, lips twitching into a barely-there semblance of a smirk as he recalled her reaction the first time she had seen him in anything but his infamous all-black attire. She'd stared at him, mouth agape, for a good five minutes before finally stammering that she hadn't even been aware that he knew _how _to dress in anything that wasn't black . . . or at least, extremely dark gray.

_Speaking of Athena_ . . .

Simon lifted his chin slightly, glancing through the doorway that led into their tiny – yet still functional, in its own modest way – kitchen area. Though he could not see her from this particular angle, he felt certain that she was still in there, sitting at the table, poring over the almost comically gigantic stack of files and folders that she had brought home with her from the office. She did not seem to be taking this period of rest very well – either she knew not the meaning of the phrase 'rest and relaxation', or she had simply chosen to reject the sentiment entirely. In fact, she seemed determined to do everything in her power to continue working, though in regards to what, Simon hadn't the foggiest. Athena had always been like that, unstoppably tenacious, and so long as she remained unhurt and out of trouble, he had never been particularly inclined to interrogate her. She was an adult now, after all, and though it was unfortunately easy for him to slip up and treat her as the child he'd once known her to be rather than the capable, intelligent grown woman she was now, he always did his best to bear her independence in mind.

Still, it had been a while since he had even heard her speak this evening, and knowing Athena, that was slightly disconcerting to say the least. The realization invoked in him a particular feeling of . . . well, if not worry, then certainly of curiosity. Even after her busiest of days, she was always the effervescent sort, never one to pass up the opportunity to indulge in good conversation, especially where Simon was involved. She had always been the more extroverted of the two of them, left fulfilled by socialization where Blackquill was merely left drained and exhausted, and she had quite the habit of chattering when she put her mind to it. Luckily, though, she was more often than not engaging enough that even someone as naturally quiet as he did not mind in the slightest when she wished to converse with him. Which was why her silence this evening seemed so . . . out of the ordinary.

It wasn't concerning, merely . . . interesting.

Curiosity piqued, Simon reached for his bookmark, which he had rested on the nearby coffee table, and marked his place in his book. Setting it down on the table once again, he swung his legs over the side of the couch with a quiet sigh and drew himself to his feet, stretching lithely before padding silently over to the kitchen doorway. He reached his destination in three easy strides, tall and lanky as he was, and moved to lean against the archway that led into the kitchen, arms folded neatly across his chest. Sure enough, from this location he could see that Athena was indeed still seated at the humble little dining table, hunched over a precariously-stacked tower of papers, more intensely focused than he'd ever seen her before. She had taken her hair down from its usual perky ponytail, and now it cascaded down her shoulders, shiny and soft, slightly wavy where her hairband had pressed against the strands all day. Though her back was facing him, he could see from her posture that her chin was propped against her left hand; she drummed her slim fingers against the tabletop, deep in thought.

A wry little smirk finding its way onto the sharp angles of his pale face, he stepped slowly forward, careful to keep as quiet as possible, so as not to attract her attention. As he had anticipated, she did not appear to notice him as he edged forward; so absorbed in her work was she that even when the floor creaked slightly beneath his feet, she did not even deign to glance up from the papers before her. He couldn't help but lift his eyebrows in mild surprise and intrigue; to see her this intentional towards something could only mean that it was incredibly important to her, which only served to make him wonder further as to what it could possibly be.

"My, my, Cykes-dono," he said by way of greeting, taking great delight in watching her jump with surprise and wheel around in her chair to face him, eyes wide with mingled shock and rueful amusement. "To spend such a considerable length of time as this in a state of complete silence . . . I must say, I cannot help but be compelled to wonder whether or not it may be some sort of record for you." He allowed the faintest chuckle to escape the back of his throat, his steely gray eyes glinting with his usual razor-sharp sense of humor.

"Simon!" she gasped, reaching out and perfunctorily swatting him in the midsection. At first, she feigned irritation, but it wasn't long at all before a begrudging little grin tugged itself into place at the corners of her lips. "Geez, do you have to do that? You're always sneaking up on me."

At this, the smug little grin on his face only served to widen. "Ah, yes, but so long as it continues to prove itself an amusing pastime, I am obligated to continue performing it until such a time as its humor ceases to be," he explained, punctuating his sentence by leaning down and pressing his mouth lightly to hers. It was a rare display of affection, but no less reverent. When they pulled apart, he murmured jokingly, "And you seem more than eager to comply with my endeavors, I might point out."

"Hey, that's not compliance, that's just me ending up a poor, innocent victim to your fear-mongering," she laughed in return, winding her arms loosely around his shoulders, interlocking her fingers at the back of his neck. "Not to mention you have the dorkiest sense of humor known to _man_, Simon Blackquill."

"Yet you appear to favor it readily enough, more often than not," he quipped in return, not missing a beat. As the left syllable left his lips, he permitted a mischievous grin to spread into place across his features, gleaming as wickedly as the edge of a razor. "Can it be helped if you constantly, unfailingly provide me with such entertaining reactions? You are an enabler of the highest degree, I would say."

Athena snorted. "Yeah, sure." Giving a good-natured roll of her eyes, she reeled him in the tiniest bit closer to her, brushing a kiss against the tip of his nose and laughing softly when he flinched at the touch. "You know, most people would just say 'hi' or something when they want their girlfriend to know they've entered the room," she observed, arching her eyebrows.

". . . Hi," he responded simply after a beat of silence, chuckling mildly through his nose. The expression on his face was eerily reminiscent of the confident veneer he wore when he knew he was winning against her in the courtroom – the only difference on this particular occasion was the almost imperceptible flicker of affection that flared up in his eyes whenever their gazes met. He had always been an intensely private man, and as such, tended to save moments like this specifically for when they were alone. "Had I anticipated that my presence in our own apartment would be so ill-received, I might have been inclined to take up temporary residence in my office tonight instead," he snarked, amusement coloring his tone of voice.

"Nah, don't worry – you've totally got my approval," Athena replied, punctuating the sentence by drawing in and stealing a kiss to his cheek before he could think to respond. Even so, his reflexes were quick; she felt his muscles tense and before her mouth made contact with his skin, he was pulling back, though to her delight, she realized moments later that instead of moving away entirely, he'd tricked her into granting a kiss to his mouth instead. _What a dweeb_, she thought adoringly, Widget flickering from a surprised yellow to jubilant green within the span of a second. "I'm just busy with work stuff, that's all."

Simon's line of sight flicked momentarily over to the papers that were currently scattered all over the kitchen table. Lifting his eyebrows slightly, he murmured thoughtfully, "Oh? I see. Could it be that I have caught the little lass at a bad time?" He returned his gaze to her now, still smirking, but the question in his eyes brought with it an undercurrent of sincerity. He held himself to a certain code of honor, after all, and to interrupt someone – even one who stood on the opposite side of the courtroom – in the midst of the performance of their job was a terrible ill, a level to which not even he would stoop.

Nevertheless, Athena seemed rather indifferent at this point in time to the work in front of her. Shrugging her shoulders, she lowered her hands from behind his neck and scraped her fingers through her hair as she wearily said, "No, not at all – here, sit down. It's probably about time I took a break anyway. My brain is completely fried right now."

Simon crossed over to the chair to her left, sinking into it with a little sigh and propping his elbow against the table. He gave another cursory glance to the papers before them; from what he could tell, none of the various files struck him as being tremendously important. Yet Athena was pursuing this so doggedly, he couldn't help but wonder as to the details. It seemed that being with her for so long was beginning to rub off on him – he'd never been so terribly nosy until meeting the members of the Wright Anything Agency, and now their traits were starting to fall onto him, as well. _Imagine that_, he thought humorously to himself, biting his lip to keep from grinning at the hilarity of it all.

"So," she breathed when the silence had prolonged for a considerable length of time. "How're you enjoying being home so early? It must feel great to know that you've gotten everything taken care of, at least," she surmised, a tired little smile making an appearance on her features.

"For the time being, I suppose I do," he answered, lifting a hand and idly scratching the top of his head, hair still as wildly tousled as ever. "Have everything in order, that is. All my proverbial ducks lined in a neat, methodical row." He cracked a sarcastic grin, but the expression quickly melted away in favor of a much more studious, inquisitive visage. "In any case, it would seem that I am favoring my precious few hours of leisure a great deal more than you are," he observed, pointedly returning his gaze to hers. "May I be so bold as to inquire what on Earth is keeping you so terribly busy?"

Again, Athena gave a vague, overly casual shrug of her shoulders, but Widget transitioned from his previous shade of emerald green to bright yellow so quickly that it confirmed Simon's suspicions, nonetheless. Of course, this behavior only brought one question to his mind: _Why_ would she be so nervous about his discovering what she was currently working on? The two of them had always been rather open with their work in front of one another – unless, of course, they were to face against one another in court, and then they refused to share details – and so this sudden wish to draw back from him was rather puzzling. He wasn't necessarily angered by it; she had as much a right to privacy as he, after all, and outside of the courtroom, he'd never truly been one to pry. He often could easily manipulate even the toughest witnesses into spilling their secrets on the stand, but naturally, he made use of a great deal more respect in his treatment of Athena.

"Eh, nothing really," she replied at last, though judging by the look in her eyes, even she realized how flimsy this statement sounded. "Like I said, just boring work stuff that I'd rather just get finished now instead of having to slave over it at work for the rest of the week. You know the deal." She gave her hand a flippant little wave, but in her jittery nervousness, it managed to look much more like she was swatting away a particularly pesky invisible fly.

"Ah . . . yes, I see," said Simon slowly, his quizzical gaze remaining just as unwavering as ever as he studied her movements. Surely she did not think him so dull-witted as to simply glance over her shifty behavior? Experimentally, he reached out for the document nearest to him; he could not read its contents clearly from where he was seated, but as he slid it closer, he said, "Perhaps I could provide some assistance, being the more experienced of the two of us." He allowed his usual sarcastic sense of humor to color his voice towards the end of his sentence, smirking like a schoolboy and sending her one of his famously wicked looks.

Athena laughed lightly in return, elbowing him playfully against his upper arm as she quipped, "That's pretty bold talk for someone who gets his butt kicked by me pretty much every time we face each other in court."

"Hmph. Apparently your steadily increasing legal prowess has made you no less a braggart," Simon answered sourly.

To anyone that did not know him well, he could have sounded brusque or grumpy, but Athena had been dear to him for so long that she understood a Simon Blackquill joke when she saw one. His statement elicited another laugh from her, and she pressed a kiss to his prominent cheekbone before saying, "But you love me anyway."

A doleful little smirk returned to his features. "Enough to graciously sacrifice the remaining hours of rest and solace provided to me in order to assist you with your work, on which it would appear that you are woefully behind." Despite his greatest efforts, he could not disguise the blush that reddened his cheeks as her lips brushed against the clean-shaven smoothness of his skin. Still, he cleared his throat and continued promptly, "Now, where shall we begin here? What has you so distraught that your . . . ah, your 'brain is fried', as I believe you so poetically put it?"

Athena sighed so heavily that it moved her shoulders up and down. Shoving a rather sizable stack of folders and documents in his direction, she explained wearily, "Well, it's just . . . see, Mr. Wright just recently assigned me to this case, and I'm really starting to feel the stress because it only recently got re-opened, and the statute of limitations is close to running out . . ."

Simon furrowed his brows. "Hm. How very odd. I have been made well aware that Wright-dono has been rather desperate for work of late; however, to go as far as to fish old unresolved cases out of the bottom of the legal ocean seems quite the stretch, even by his standards." He aimed a bemused glance in her direction and added, "Why in heaven's name has he got you sifting through the sand in a futile search for ancient clues, as though you're little more than an archaeologist in search of a dinosaur long-extinct?"

Athena snorted. "You and your metaphors," she giggled at first, giving him a little swat on the shoulder. "I swear, sometimes I think they get weirder and more unnecessarily elaborate as the day goes on." She shook her head, then became a bit more serious. "Anyway, there _is _a reason for Mr. Wright wanting me to take this case, you know. I didn't really see the connection at first, either, but the more I've looked into it, the more I've been able to see what's really going on."

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" he prompted, attempting to cloak his eagerness to hear what she had to say by speaking with his usual calm, controlled approach.

"Well . . . I'm beginning to think – and when I tell you this, _please_ don't freak out, it's only a theory in the works – but I've got this hunch that . . . this case may be in close connection with the Phantom."

Simon stiffened. How long had it been since that particular name had wandered into his life . . . here he'd falsely assumed that the closing of the UR-1 Incident had put their anxieties regarding the Phantom to rest at last, only to be informed that they might not truly ever be free of that despicable man's crimes. (Or could he even be considered a man? From what he had observed, the Phantom was just what his name implied – less than human, as close to a ghost as he'd ever seen.) How foolish, how woefully blind he had been, to act as though the past was behind him. Much as he'd wanted to believe otherwise, much as Athena had encouraged him to move on, it seemed as if they would never truly be free.

An irrational fury flared up within the depths of his heart, hot and loud. For a brief moment, he was distantly aware of the fact that Athena could hear his emotions loud and clear, but any attempts he may have made to conceal the tumult of emotions within him and feign indifference were chased away as the seconds ticked by. Frustration lit up in the back of his mind like a particularly rambunctious sunspot, and he gritted his teeth to bite back the particularly nasty swears that had danced momentarily into his brain. Could they be afforded no peace?! Were they simply doomed to a life of constantly returning to the Phantom, of never being able to move behind the darkness that clouded both of their pasts? For a moment, he was struck with how completely unfair it was that it always had to be them, always had to be _Athena_, sucked back into the traumatic experiences she'd done her best to leave behind, and though he was aware of how childish he must sound, he couldn't help but allow the thoughts to enter his mind nonetheless.

Athena flinched back from him, looking stricken. He could only guess what she must be picking up on in his heart; in court what seemed like an eternity ago, he'd stood and given testimony, and when she'd treated him to one of her "therapy sessions", as she called them, she'd been startled to discover that he possessed an incredible wealth and range of emotions. He felt intensely, and he often felt several things passionately and all at once, making it difficult for her to discern what precisely was going on. The fact that he was so unfailingly introverted and so adept at concealing what was truly bothering him certainly did not help matters. Taking a deep breath, he made his best effort to control the sudden spike of emotions in response to her words, in the hopes of sparing them both from a lengthy discussion. Yet, even as he did this, the look on her face told him that the conversation was not to be avoided.

". . . Remember, don't freak out," she pleaded with an uncharacteristic timidity, her eyes suddenly very round and very large. Gulping heavily, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and when she opened them again, she added with a greater conviction, more herself again. "I know you probably don't like the sound of this—"

"Athena." Despite his inner turmoil, Simon's tone of voice remained cool and calculated as ever; yet, as he spoke, there was an undercurrent to every syllable that suggested he certainly was not in the mood for debating the subject. If there was any argument to be had on her side, he did not appear to be terribly open to hearing it – not at the moment, at least.

Still, she pressed on, nothing if not determined. "Look, Simon, please listen to me—"

"Why is it so exceedingly difficult for you to simply let matters lie?" His words left his lips much more harshly than he'd originally intended. And yet, there they were, out in the open now, and there was naught he could do to take it back. Instead, he simply massaged his temples with a world-weary sigh, muttering, "What do you hope to accomplish in the pursuit of this case? The Phantom has been long arrested. I fail to see the point of continuing to so doggedly rifle through the past when all has been invariably settled!"

"Because it's a matter of what's right and what's wrong!" Athena cried, incredulous. Taken aback with his hostility, she sputtered, "Simon, if I can manage to prove that my client is innocent, then that means that another person gets saved from dying for something awful that the Phantom did. I should think that you, more than _anyone else_, would understand how important that is." She aimed a pointed stare in his direction, referencing, of course, to his prison sentence. It was a rare move; neither of them cared to discuss his incarceration in great depth, but now it seemed to matter little. He stared back at her unflinchingly, just as eerily calm as ever.

"If this is truly such a noble pursuit as all that," Simon countered, doing his best to hide that her words had struck a chord with him indeed, "then perhaps Wright-dono would be so kind as to take it upon himself to handle the proceedings, rather than force it onto his intern who is by no means prepared to tackle it on her own!"

Again, the words came out much more cruelly than he'd intended, a rare slip-up for him. Typically, Simon was exceedingly careful in picking out his every word, knowing entirely well that every syllable was a chance to turn the argument to his favor. Words were not only a weapon to him, but an art form, and he did not take them lightly. That he had become so brazen and careless in the way that he was currently addressing Athena only spoke of the strength of the emotions currently plaguing his heart. The last time he'd allowed his emotions to so completely control his actions, as a matter of fact, happened to be when he stood in court, testifying about the day in which he'd tried to protect Athena after finding her next to Metis Cykes' dead body.

Surprise flitted across her features, turning into anger a moment later. Widget flared red around her neck. "What's that supposed to mean?" she replied, her every word a storm of indignation. "What makes you think I'm not capable of handling this? In case you've forgotten, I've beaten you every time we've faced each other in court!" She'd teased him affectionately earlier by saying just as much, but now, as frustrated as they were quickly becoming with one another, the words held a different meaning entirely.

"I was in no way insinuating that you were incapable," he responded, returning to his coolly indifferent, efficient self, arguing with calm, practiced rationality and pushing the gale of emotions welling up inside him to the very farthest reaches of his heart. Rising from his chair, he strode a few paces away from the table, then wheeled around once again, facing her with a determined gleam in his steely eyes as he elaborated, "I simply meant to suggest that perhaps it would be unwise to place such a burden upon your shoulders, so soon after the closing of the incident involving your own mother. You are far too personally attached to the subject of the Phantom, and as such, it is irresponsible to take the case and put such baggage onto your client. I know you, Athena, and your desperation to bring each of the Phantom's crimes to light, while certainly justified, may end up acting to your detriment in some cases."

Athena scrunched her eyebrows together, deep in thought. "How—" she began, but Simon, quick on his feet, cut her off.

"_Because_," he continued, watching her carefully as she, too, rose from her seat, hands planted firmly at her hips. "Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps your undying faith in your clients may, at times, be unfounded? True," he added before she could provide the obvious argument, "in the occasions in which we have countered against one another in court, your assumptions have proven correct. However, that fortunate streak is bound to dwindle at some point, yes? And what will happen when it does?" He regarded her seriously, thoughtfully, for what seemed like an eternity. "Even your beloved Wright-dono can tell you that not every client is as innocent as they may postulate. All I mean to say is that you must be _careful_. Your need to continually chase down the Phantom – and it is a need that I understand entirely, believe you me – could result in a clouded judgment in court. What if your client truly is guilty, and you refuse to realize it, preferring instead to place the blame upon someone who is currently already incarcerated? What good would it do a swordsman to combat against the man which is already deceased?"

At the end of Simon's sentence, he swallowed unevenly, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly up and down as he stared, somehow harsh and pleading all at once, in Athena's direction. She met his gaze as confidently, as fiercely as ever, not a hint of a waver in her line of thinking. He felt absurdly proud of her for that, in spite of his frustration with her inability to see his side to the argument. These words he'd just spoken were practically a speech, coming from him; he'd never been a particularly talkative sort outside of the courtroom. What had been shyness, awkwardness as a boy had evolved into avoidant tendencies as he'd grown into adulthood. Yet now, he'd done his best to make every syllable count.

Athena sighed, dragging her fingers through her hair and shaking her head. "You want me to . . . be careful," she repeated slowly, an exhausted edge entering her voice. Simon nodded his head jerkily, and she gave a short, humorless laugh. "I just don't get it, Simon, really, I don't. I don't know what I have to do to prove to you that I'm not as helpless as you seem to think I am! You know something? You're starting to get on my nerves! You always treat me like a little girl, not like an equal!" She jabbed an index finger into the air, her expression livid. She advanced closer to him as she continued to speak, her volume increasing by the second. "And it's _beyond _irritating to try to be with someone who keeps trying to act like my noble, gallant knight and keep me on a pedestal as this pure, perfect thing – it's just – ugh!" She threw her hands into the air as if to punctuate her sentence, turning to move away.

She was stopped by Simon's hands landing squarely on her shoulders, his touch gentle and firm all at once, fingers pressing just hard enough into her shoulder blades to keep her stationary. It wasn't often that Simon showed such blatant affection for her, but even in the current situation, it seemed to work. She slackened slightly in his grip, yet still kept an expectant gaze as he said, as evenly and calmly as he could manage, "It was never my intention to make you feel as though you were lesser than myself. In my efforts to protect—"

"See, there you go again!" she cried, yet she made no effort to move away from him. "You keep saying that all the time – that you want to protect me. And I'm grateful for what you've done for me – please don't think I'm not, because I can't tell you how thankful I am for _everything_ – but sometimes, I swear, you just take it too far! I just want you to be able to trust me to do things on my own! I'm not the little kid you used to know, and I don't think you even realize that most of the time! I-I just . . . I don't always need your _help_, okay? I don't—"

"_**Silence**_."

As if by Simon Blackquill's command, a deathly quietude descended upon the room. The air suddenly felt thick and heavy, incredibly close. Athena's expression almost instantly changed from furious to shocked, and after a few seconds, it dawned on him precisely why her reaction to his phrase had been so radical. This was the first time – outside of the courtroom, obviously – that he had used his signature command with her. And he'd certainly spoken it with his usual cold, authoritative tone, which certainly must have jarred her quite a bit. Had he not been so angry, he might have felt the briefest pang of guilt, but for the time being, his slighted feelings were great enough that they eclipsed anything else. His gray eyes narrowed and he met her gaze with a hawk-like sharpness; she shrank away from him, and his stomach dropped, but he knew he could do little to repair what had already been done. Damage control would have to wait for later, when they had both cooled down a bit.

If he were being completely honest with himself, he'd reacted so brusquely because . . . well, much as he hated to admit it, her words had certainly stung. How many years had he spent behind bars in an attempt to protect Athena, to guard her when he believed her to be guilty of matricide? He'd had his suspicions all along that she could not possibly be the killer, of course, yet he'd been willing to go to prison over the mere possibility. He hated feeling as though he were a martyr, and as such, tended not to dwell on it on most occasions; yet now, when he was angry, he couldn't stop the indignant feelings from rushing right to the forefront of his mind, tying his stomach into tense little knots. How dare she even suggest that she had no need of his protection, when he had spent seven years suffering to give her the safety and peace he'd always wanted for her! He regretted the thought almost as soon as it had crossed his mind, but it certainly did little to diminish the hurt he'd felt in response to her blatant dismissal of his endeavors.

"Simon, I—" she stuttered, remorse immediately making its way onto her features. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain his dignified expression, despite the fact that he'd temporarily forgotten that she could hear the voice of his heart. She could most likely sense everything that he'd just felt at that moment in time, and the sudden change in attitude had come from her realization that she'd unintentionally hurt his feelings.

Sparing her the pain and awkwardness of trying to come up with an apology, he simply shook his head and said, "If you will permit me to be excused at this time, Cykes-dono, I believe I will return to my reading. It is evident that you desire privacy in order to complete your work, and I'll not withhold you from that a moment longer." With a stiff bow, he turned on his heel and made to leave the room.

As always seemed to be the case with the two of them, her voice brought him to a halt.

"Simon Blackquill, don't you dare!"

In a rare display of compliance, Simon froze, his back turned to her. Not daring to look over his shoulder, he instead aimed a steady glare in the opposite direction, though he couldn't help but arch his eyebrows the slightest bit in response to her words. What else could she possibly have left to say to him? Judging by the words the two of them had just exchanged, there seemed to be little left on the table to discuss. At this juncture, he thought it would be more prudent, more effective for the two of them to simply walk away and give one another time to calm down before attempting to make civil conversation.

And yet, despite his misgivings, he stopped for her anyway. _What is it about you, Athena Cykes? Why do I always stop for you?_

Her voice brought him quickly out of his thoughts and into the present once again. "Simon, I . . . I'm sorry," she said at last, sounding infinitely more relieved as the apology breezed past her lips. It must have been a tremendous effort; both were notoriously quite stubborn, and neither liked to admit to the other that they had done anything wrong. It was impressive, he had to admit, that she had pushed past her pride and offered her contrition, particularly when he knew just how difficult it truly was. "Okay? I'm sorry. I really am. I-I shouldn't have said that I don't need you. I just . . . I really want you to start seeing me as somebody who's tough enough to stand on her own, without needing a bodyguard all the time, y'know? I want you to feel like you're my boyfriend, not my guardian."

Though his back remained turned to her, he could hear her footsteps against the linoleum kitchen floor and knew she must be drawing closer to him. Without turning around to face her, he responded rather stiffly, "Nor do I think of you as helpless. If this was the impression I gave you all this time, then . . . hm. Then that is certainly regrettable, seeing as that was never my intention." He cleared his throat awkwardly; it was as close to a genuine apology as it was going to get with Simon – for the time being, at least. When he had been granted time to cool off for a while, he would be able to express himself more freely, but now, it was all he could do to force the words from his throat. "Cykes-dono, to be sure you are well aware that no one could possibly hold a higher opinion of you than I."

"Well . . . sometimes it's hard to tell, I have to admit," she answered, and though her voice was soft, he could practically hear the tentative little smile on her face in every syllable. "And that's _with _Widget's help."

At this, even Simon could not help the smirk that twitched onto his features for the barest flicker of an instant. It was gone as quickly as it had come, but nonetheless, he sighed and turned around at last, studying her with a remarkably composed gaze. Gone was the wild abandon and raw emotion he'd displayed moments earlier, and his usual, more controlled self had made an appearance once again. Though the atmosphere between them had lightened considerably from its state moments earlier, there was still a great deal of tension hovering about; that much, he suspected, would only fade away as the hours ticked by and their minds were distracted from their little spat. For the time being, however, he supposed that no harm could come of at least an attempt to behave civilly with one another.

"Hmph. I would take that simply to mean that your skills require a great deal more honing," he answered, even daring to allow the faintest tinge of amusement to work its way into his voice. "Even the finest of swordsmen study under their masters, simply imitating down to the last turn of the wrist for years before becoming sturdy enough to practice on their own." There was a certain lightness to the jab at her capabilities that hadn't been there before, indicating that he was joking rather than seriously accusing her of faultiness.

Rather than answer his little remark with a sarcastic comment of her own, as per usual, instead Athena stepped forward and vaulted herself up on tiptoe, wrapping her arms around Simon's waist and burying her face in his chest. "Simon, please," she murmured, suddenly as serious as he'd ever seen her. "I just want you to be able to trust me on this. You let me take Aura's case, remember? And I didn't let you guys down then. So believe in me when I say that I'll do my absolute best this time around, too."

Certainly not for the first time in all the years that he'd known Athena Cykes, Simon found himself once again at a loss for words. He mulled over her words with a careful but open mind, swallowing heavily past the lump in his throat. The thought of her taking on this case, when he knew entirely well what the Phantom had done to ruin her life, filled the pit of his stomach with nothing but dread; however, he realized – though begrudgingly – that he could not allow his own fears or anxieties to dictate what she did with her career. She was more than capable of handling it, and he knew that better than anyone else. She was right, and though he hated to admit it, he was wrong.

And so, finding no possible way to put into words everything that he felt at the moment – and to do so efficiently, at that – Simon instead reached out and brushed back her bangs, offering her a quick kiss to the forehead. He had never been the sort of person to invest too heavily in physical displays of affection, but now was just a good a time as any to begin warming up to the idea, he supposed. Then, all there was left to do was allow the silence between them as he held her close to tell her all the things he wasn't quite certain how to say.

_I do. I believe in you._


End file.
